• bicycle rides,  bicycling,  natural areas,  poems,  trees

    Too be like a tree…

    To be a giant and keep quiet about it,
    To stay in one’s own place;
    To stand for the constant presence of process
    And always to seem the same;
    To be steady as a rock and always trembling,
    Having the hard appearance of death
    With the soft, fluent nature of growth,
    One’s Being deceptively armored,
    One’s Becoming deceptively vulnerable;
    To be so tough, and take the light so well,
    Freely providing forbidden knowledge
    Of so many things about heaven and earth
    For which we should otherwise have no word—
    Poems or people are rarely so lovely,
    And even when they have great qualities
    They tend to tell you rather than exemplify
    What they believe themselves to be about,
    While from the moving silence of trees,
    Whether in storm or calm, in leaf and naked,
    Night and day, we draw conclusions of our own,
    Sustaining and unnoticed as our breath
    And perilous also—though there has never been
    A critical tree—about the nature of things.

    Howard Nemerov, The Tree from The Poetry of Presence

    I read this poem yesterday and loved the message it brought to me. I thought I’d share it on this blog and maybe it will touch you, also. I knew immediately which tree I wanted to include with the post. So this morning on my ride to the coffee shop I stopped to take a moment and admire again this wise old cottonwood elder and take a photo of them. The tree is located along Fisher Natural Area and I have several images of it. You can see in the image we are still experiencing the effects of the forest fires. And, they say it will be hot again today.

  • clouds,  horizons,  landscape,  mountains,  nature,  poems

    We never belonged to you…

    The moment when, after many years
    of hard work and a long voyage
    you stand in the centre of your room,
    house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
    knowing at last how you got there,
    and say, I own this,

    is the same moment when the trees unloose
    their soft arms from around you,
    the birds take back their language,
    the cliffs fissure and collapse,
    the air moves back from you like a wave
    and you can’t breathe.

    No, they whisper. You own nothing.
    You were a visitor, time after time
    climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
    We never belonged to you.
    You never found us.
    It was always the other way round.

    Margaret Atwood, The Moment

    Like so many of my images, something called me to stop and press the shutter button. I pulled into the Running Deer Natural Area parking lot and took the image from there. I did not create any of the beauty in this scene, nature did and lovingly shares it with us. Our task is to accept the gift of its presence and beauty with grateful hearts! May we come to realize we belong in this world not as conquerors but as integral parts of it. 

  • poems

    … and was a flower

    once a snowflake fell
    on my brow and i loved
    it so much and i kissed
    it and it was happy and called its cousins
    and brothers and a web
    of snow engulfed me then
    i reached to love them all
    and i squeezed them and they became
    a spring rain and i stood perfectly
    still and was a flower

    Winter Poem by Nikki Giovanni

    We have clear blue skies and sunshine this morning. I awoke at about 4:46 am and said ugh, I don’t wanna get up! And, I didn’t. Slept in till 5:45 am. I loved this simple poem and wanted to share it with you. I hope you have a wonderful weekend!!

  • landscape,  poems,  river,  Yellowstone National Park

    A Simple Prayer

    I would love to live
    Like a river flows,
    Carried by the surprise
    Of its own unfolding.

    John O’Donohue

    This is a sunrise image taken on the Madison River from a road trip in August of 2022. It was my last day of the trip and I was heading home when I saw this scene. I had to stop. It really didn’t matter if I took a photo or not I just needed to experience the moment. This part of the river is calm while both up river and down river there are rapids and surprises. As a metaphor of life there are days when the flow of life is as calm as this river while there are times when it ain’t and we face surprises. I’m learning to be a part of its unfolding. So, this poem is my prayer for today!

  • poems,  writing/reading

    …never the same

    A free afternoon found me
    lying in the grass at the park.
    Above me a canopy of leaves
    offering the gift of cool shade.

    I take deep breaths and stay present
    while leafhoppers jump around me.
    I inhale the scent of freshly cut grass
    and hear the unseen blue jay’s call.

    Clouds drift above me in a sea of blue sky
    as I take in the awe and wonder of nature,
    a sanctuary without walls, doors or windows.
    I close my eyes in reverence, gratitude, prayer

    … and I’m never the same!

    mws
  • Dewdrops,  leaves,  Plants,  poems,  quotes

    Exploring..

    Hemp dogbane (Apocynum cannabinum) covered in dew

    We shall not cease from exploration,
    and the end of all our exploring
    will be to arrive where we started
    and know the place for the first time.

    T.S. Eliot

    It was a cool bicycle ride on this August morning. The temperature was at 56 degrees and the humidity was over 90% when I mounted the red steed and headed for the coffee shop. I could see the fog lazily drifting along the eastern horizon but we had none here. I had never thought of my bicycling as a form of exploration but I am coming to see that it is. It is not much different than walking the trails, at least at the meandering speed I pedal. I needed to stop on the way home and photograph these (Apocynum cannabinum) leaves covered in dew along Spring Creek Trail. The leaves and stems are quite lovely but probably not something to put in your salad ( see the link). I hope you have a wonderful Tuesday!

  • flowers,  insects,  Plants,  poems

    …the world depends on it

    Because

    So I can’t save the world—
    can’t save even myself,
    can’t wrap my arms around
    every frightened child, can’t
    foster peace among nations,
    can’t bring love to all who
    feel unlovable.
    So I practice opening my heart
    right here in this room and being gentle
    with my insufficiency. I practice
    walking down the street heart first.
    And if it is insufficient to share love,
    I will practice loving anyway.
    I want to converse about truth,
    about trust. I want to invite compassion
    into every interaction.
    One willing heart can’t stop a war.
    One willing heart can’t feed all the hungry.
    And sometimes, daunted by a task too big,
    I tell myself what’s the use of trying?
    But today, the invitation is clear:
    to be ridiculously courageous in love.
    To open the heart like a lilac in May,
    knowing freeze is possible
    and opening anyway.
    To take love seriously.
    To give love wildly.
    To race up to the world
    as if I were a puppy,
    adoring and unjaded,
    stumbling on my own exuberance.
    To feel the shock of indifference,
    of anger, of cruelty, of fear,
    and stay open. To love as if it matters,
    as if the world depends on it.

    Because from The Unfolding by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer